


Wishverse 01 - Nothing Changes

by Soledad



Series: If Wishes Were Horses (Wishverse) [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Actions Have Consequences (at least here), Canon-Typical Violence, Episode rewrite: s01.01 - Everything Changes, Gen, Heavy-Duty Gwen Bashing, Original Dialogue In Different Context, So very AU, The Many Departures of Gwen Cooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 11:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7637596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many different ways to get rid of Gwen Cooper, while keeping the episodes as canonical as possible, including a great deal of original dialogue. A writing experiment. Not for Gwen-fans, obviously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Take One

**Author's Note:**

> To certain episodes, there are two or more different versions. The pilot is one of those.  
> This particular chapter is rated 16+, for bloody violence. Personally, I find it a lot more harmful for young readers than moderate sex scenes.
> 
> The additional dialogue in the bar between Jack and Andy uses lines from the deleted scenes, my thanks to .
> 
> **Warning:** repeated character death(s) in each chapter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
 **EPISODE 01 – NOTHING CHANGES, TAKE ONE**

Police Constable Andy Davidson was not a religious man. At least, he didn’t go to church, unless his mother came to visit and dragged him there. However, he firmly believed in karma. He believed that one’s deeds had consequences, and one had to live with those consequences, whether one liked it or not.

And so he accepted the fact that having walk the beat with Gwen Cooper, of all people, was the well-earned punishment for that moment of weakness (or insanity) two years ago. For the fact that – after a particularly stressful day – he’d kept comforting Gwen Cooper till they’d ended up shagging like bunnies in the police station’s broom closet. _Speak about horrible clichés_.

It wasn’t that he downright _disliked_ Gwen – she could be funny and nice sometimes, especially if she wanted one to do things for her – but he hadn’t planned to spend his professional life handcuffed to her. No, Andy Davidson had _plans_ for his future career with the police. He wanted to become a sergeant one day, even to go to detective school eventually. That was why he’d asked for permission to participate in weapons training and self-defence courses, even though all that wasn’t strictly mandatory for mere constables. That was why he went to the gym and on morning runs to keep himself fit, and was learning for the sergeant’s exam in his every spare minute.

Unfortunately, being given promotions and supported to climb to career ladder required to be at least moderately successful in his current job, and having Gwen Cooper as his partner nipped all those efforts in the bud. Not only was she bossy and behaved as if she were his superior (despite having been paired up with him to _learn_ something), she didn’t listen to reason, either, and blundered headfirst into every crime scene, screwing up about eighty per cent all of their cases and getting hurt in half of them.

When called on her mistakes, she always widened her eyes to a fairly alarming size, under they all but bulked out of her face, made them fill with tears and her lower lip tremble, and began to simper.

“Ooh, sir, I’m _sooo_ sorry! I mean, really, I mean really, _really_ sorry. God, I can't believe it. I'll sort it. Whatever's happened, I'll deal with it, I promise! I _can_ deal with it, I _really_ can!”

For some reason, their superiors always seemed to buy the show. Andy could never understand how she did it. Perhaps those bulging eyes could mesmerize people somehow. After all, _he_ had ended up in the broom closet with her, and he _never_ did it in the broom closet, with _anyone_!

What was even worse than Gwen’s complete inability to deal with the simplest cases was her annoying stubbornness. Once she sank her claws in something (or _someone_ – Rhys Williams could tell a tale about _that_ , the poor sod, were he not so completely besotted with her), she’d never let it go. Ever.

Like with those Special Ops people (or whatever) from Torchwood. Ever since they’d taken over the murder case on Llangyfellach Lane, all she could think (and talk) about was Torchwood. She even buggered Yvonne into doing a search on their leader. Some Captain Hark or something like that. Andy could tell that Yvonne was _not_ pleased, being overworked as she was and all that. She’d still agreed to look into it, should she find the time. People _always_ ended up doing as Gwen asked, just to get rid of her.

“I listened to the detectives while I served them coffee in the morning,” Gwen mused. They were sitting in their police car, patrolling the streets. “They said the murdered bloke from last night was the third victim, all killed with the same weapon: a blade, about eight inches long, three inches deep. Two of them were elderly women, stabbed from the front, but this John Tucker was only nineteen, and he was stabbed from behind. I wonder what that could mean.”

Andy shrugged. He found Gwen’s efforts to play profiler fairly ridiculous, to be honest. If she could stop trying to look more than she was and do her own bloody work for a change, life would have been so much easier!

“Perhaps that he didn’t have the balls to attack a man face to face,” he replied, starting the engine, as the call to break up a bar brawl had come through.

As usual, Gwen couldn’t let go. Like a pit bull with a bone, she kept nagging on the problem.

“But those people last night, the people in the car, who were they?” she pondered as they got out of the car. “What _is_ Torchwood?”

“I’m not sure,” Andy shrugged again. “Special Ops, I guess. I heard Detective Swanson has worked with them on some really weird cases.”

“Yeah, but what does that mean?” Gwen asked.

“Bet you ten quid they're DNA specialists,” Andy replied, heading for the bar. “It's all DNA these days, like that CSI bollocks.”

“Well, it could be useful,” Gwen insisted. “I mean, analyzing bullet paths and fingerprints and all that stuff… it really could help, couldn’t it?”

Andy snorted. “CSI Cardiff, I'd like to see that,” he said. “They'd be measuring the velocity of a kebab. We’ve got SOCO; that should be enough.”

He tossed open the doors, and they entered the bar, walking right into the middle of a full-blown brawl. Andy looked around to get the general picture about the participants and the state of the furniture. Such things could be crucial when breaking up a brawl. A broken chair leg could cause serious injuries.

“Thank you very much!” he then shouted, to get their attention. “Break it up! Break it up! Thank you!”

He got between two combatants and pushed them away with enough strength to separate them but not hard enough to injure them. They weren’t hardened criminals, after all, just some drunken blokes who couldn’t hold their liquor. The two men sauntered in two different directions, and Andy smiled in satisfaction. All that weight-lifting and sandbag-punching in the gym came in handy in such situations.

From the corner of his eye he could see Gwen latch onto a burly, bald-headed man's arm, trying to get him to let go of another man he was holding. The man shook her off his arm, hurling her against the wooden wall. She hit her head, hard, and stayed on the floor, moaning, her eyes welling with tears.

The brawl continued on. Andy suppressed an exasperated growl – another simple job screwed up, another nail in the coffin of his career – and ran back to the car to call in reinforcements. Any chances to solve the problem on their own had been thwarted.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
About an hour later he was with Gwen in the hospital, seeing that she got her head wound tended to. Gwen whimpered while the cute young doctor worked on her – perhaps to wake his sympathies – and, surprisingly enough, accepted Andy’s help to walk along the hallway after all had been done.

“Ow!” she complained, touching the back of her head gingerly. “That really hurt. You shouldn’t have left me fight those big brutes alone, you know! They were at least twice my size, each!”

“Don’t worry,” Andy replied dryly, because really, _everyone_ should have learned some decent unarmed fighting style beyond the basic training, which was, to be perfectly honest, bollocks. “With that extremely thick Welsh skull of yours you’ll be up and running in no time.”

He _didn’t_ mean that quite literally. Honestly, he didn’t. Nonetheless, he wasn’t the least surprise when Gwen looked up instinctively, hearing the overhead announcement _Dr. Roberts to ME. Dr. Roberts to ME. Thank you._ , and – freeing herself from Andy’s grip – began to run up the stairs, following a man in a long grey trenchcoat and exclaiming. “It’s him! My God, it’s him!”

Swearing a blue streak, Andy ran after her. Gwen was a pain in the arse, that was true, but she was still _his_ responsibility. He was still the NCO in charge, due to the fact that he had two more years of duty under his belt, and it was _his_ duty to keep her alive and relatively unharmed – despite her repeated efforts to get kidnapped, taken hostage, beaten up or killed. It was a dirty job, but someone _had_ to do it, and Police Constable Davidson took his duties _very_ seriously.

He reached the top of the stairs and saw that the corridors had been sealed off. Hearing a door slam shut, he turned around and hurried down a few stars again, calling out to a chubby, round-faced, slightly long-haired man – presumably the porter – who was walking up to him.

“Excuse me… It's all sealed off up there. Who did that?”

The porter shrugged, recognizing him being from the police. “Thought it was you lot.”

“Not that I’d have been told,” Andy murmured. “Have you any idea why it was done? What’s happened?”

“Well, I don't know,” the porter replied, not terribly concerned. “Nine o'clock this morning, it was all sealed off, they never said why. Chemicals or something, I’d guess.”

He turned away, but Andy stopped him. “Sorry, but have you seen my partner? Young woman, brunette, with shoulder-length hair and really big eyes.”

“Yeah, sure,” the porter pointed at the corridor on top the stairs. “She went thataway; that’s why I thought you were the ones who had everything sealed off.”

With that, he left Andy alone, presumably returning to his room. He had work to do, after all. So did Andy, for that matter, but he couldn’t turn up one constable short. So he took upon himself the task to regain his errant partner.

He ran up the stairs again, and could now indeed see Gwen entering the sealed-off corridor. _Business as usual_ , then, he thought sourly. _Gwen Cooper ignoring the rules as always. What’s new?_

At the far end of the corridor, he could see someone walk out of a side room. It looked like a grown man wearing a jumpsuit – a completely bald man, he corrected himself – but there was something wrong with his posture, something off in his movements, in the angle he held his head. Andy was getting very bad vibes from the whole thing.

“Gwen, don’t get any closer!” he said warningly.

As expected, Gwen didn’t listen to him; perhaps hadn’t even heard him. She did have this sort of selective hearing, in order to have her own way. In fact, she started to head over to the man… thing… who seemed to feel her approach and stopped mid-stride.

“Hello?” she asked tentatively; bloody hell, she even waved to get his – its – attention, that silly woman. “Sorry, I'm just looking for someone.”

The… thing turned and looked at Gwen. It didn’t answer. Andy moved on in faster, looking frantically for something that he could potentially use as a weapon, because the closer he got, the stranger the creature looked to him. He really doubted they were dealing with a human being, although he couldn’t even imagine what else it could be. Only Gwen couldn’t be distracted from her track by a face that looked like some sort of mask from _Hellraiser_.

“Right, yeah,” she muttered. “Clever.” She raised her voice again. “Anyway, I don't know if you saw a man come through here – a tall man, in one of those big sort of military coats.”

The creature still didn’t answer. It probably wasn’t even capable of speaking, with those teeth, prosthetics or not, and Gwen’s voice rose half an octave as always when she was getting annoyed.

“Okay. If you could answer? This is official business.”

“No, Gwen, it isn’t”, Andy said in a low, even voice, trying _not_ to upset the creature, whatever it was. “We’ve got no bloody business to be here, so would you just bugger off and let those who know how to deal with weird, freakish stuff deal with him?”

Of course, Gwen ignored him as usual. She smiled and pointed at the thing’s face. “That's good,” she babbled in that stupid manner she called _winning the subject’s trust_. “That's a good mask sort of thing.”

Andy rolled his eyes, because honestly, who the hell talked like _that_? Or did Gwen really think someone was having an early Carnival in the hospital corridor? The thing, as it could be accepted, didn’t answer, just stared at Gwen with those strange, inhuman eyes, and finally even in Gwen’s head began to dawn a vague idea that something just wasn’t right here.

“Look,” she said in what she considered her authoritative tone, “I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something, but ... I think we can stop this now, okay?” The thing kept glaring at her, and her voice once again turned shrill with annoyance. “It's all very well playing silly buggers, but I'm busy, all right? Now, I'm looking for a man in a big grey coat. I said we can stop being silly.”

She stomped with her foot in frustration. The thing opened a mouth full of pointy teeth and hissed at her.

“Gwen, get the hell away from that thing!” Andy all but begged. “Whatever it is, it can’t be safe!”

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Gwen threw the reply over her shoulder. “I’m a trained policewoman, I know what I’m dooo… aaaaaaah!”

Her last words were drowned in a terrible scream as the creature grabbed her and bit her neck. Blood spurted out all around them, and Andy wasted a precious second fighting the urge to get violently ill. Then he lounged to help her, forgetting that he was unarmed – despite everything, he couldn’t just let her being butchered by… by something he couldn’t even name.

At the same moment, the lift stopped on their level, and a tall man in a heavy grey coat stepped out of it. He matched the description of the one Gwen had been looking for to the iota. He also seemed grim and concerned. Assessing the situation, he grabbed Andy and shoved him behind.

“Stay out of the way,” he ordered. He had an American accent. “We’ll deal with it; this is our job.”

Recognizing true authority when he saw it, Andy obeyed. He could see three other people – two women and a rather scrawny, black-haired man – rush out of the lift. They sprayed the creature with something (and Andy was sure it wasn’t just pepper spray), apparently trying to detain it. The thing dropped Gwen’s limp body and covered its eyes with its clawed hands.

“Get it down!” one of the women, a lovely Japanese chick, called out to the others “Get it down! Cuff it!”

“Down on the floor!” the black-haired man shouted.

The three of them overwhelmed and handcuffed the creature. The other woman – a vaguely oriental beauty with a regal posture – put a hood over its head. They dragged it to its feet and held it tight. Just after it was secured did the dark-haired man go down on his knees to check Gwen’s pulse. His movements were those of a trained professional – he had to be a doctor or at least a medic of some sort. He looked up at the man in the greatcoat (presumably their team chief) and shook his head in regret.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he said. “She’s dead.”

“I see,” the man whose name was apparently Jack closed his eyes for a moment, as if the news would hurt him personally. Then he looked at his team again. “Get the Weevil to the Hub. As for the rest – standard procedure.”

“What about _him_?” the cute Japanese chick nodded in Andy’s direction. Under different circumstances, her interest would have flattered him, but now… 

“ _I’ll_ deal with him,” the team chief replied.

Andy was seriously asking himself if he should be worried.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Twenty minutes later the two of them were sitting in a slightly seedy, traditional pub that the tourists would never find. It was for the locals, and Andy found some strange comfort in that fact. The wood-panelled walls, the flashing slot machine at his back, the simply-clad men drinking their beer… all this had a reassuring touch of normalcy to it, something that he desperately needed right now.

Jack returned from the bar, bringing pints fort hem both. Andy accepted the beer thankfully – it was against regulations, sure, but after all that he’d just witnessed, he needed a drink badly – and Jack seemed to be drinking water. Watching Andy with clinical interest over the rim of his water glass, until the young constable couldn’t take it any longer.

“You’d be a cheap date, you know,” he said, trying to ease the tension with a joke. “What’s that, tap water?”

“Yeah,” Jack had taken off his coat and laid it over the back of his chair. He was wearing some sort of beige jacket underneath, and old-fashioned braces to his slacks. The last time Andy had seen such things when his grandfather had been still alive. “Gotta keep myself hydrated. Might have to travel any moment.”

Andy got that strange feeling again, not sure why. “Travel where?” he asked.

Jack’s eyes got that strange look for a moment… the one Andy had only heard of before. It was called the ‘thousand year stare’. Soldiers returning from war, having seen terrible things had that kind of stare, it was said.

“Home,” he answered softy, and there was such painful hope in that single word that Andy’s heart contracted in sympathy. Then Jack shook off his melancholy in a second and gave him that wide, almost-too-bright smile again. “But perhaps not right now. There’s still much work for me to do here.”

Andy sipped his beer slowly, enjoying the taste and how it warmed his chest. “So, what’s gonna happen to me now?” he asked.

Jack shrugged. “It’s up to you. We can make you forget what’s just happened, planting altered memories in your head – and a completely plausible explanation for your partner’s death.”

“You can do _that_?” Andy stared at him in open-mouthed shock.

Jack nodded. “That and more. Although, to be honest, I’d be a little disappointed if you chose to forget.”

“What’s my other option then?” Andy asked.

“You could join us,” Jack replied simply. “We’re a little understaffed – chronically, I’d say – and frankly, the girls are more needed for research than for Weevil hunting. It’s a waste of their talents, but we don’t have enough field agents.”

“That… thing that killed Gwen…”

“It's called a Weevil,” Jack said. “Or at least, we call them Weevils. We don't know their real name; they're not too good at communicating. But we've got a couple of hundred of them in the city living in the sewers, feeding off the ... Well, it's the sewers, you can guess. But every once in a while, one of them goes rogue, comes to the surface, attacks. Actually, it's been happening more and more and we have no idea why. But it's alien. It was born on a different world and it's real.”

“How did it get here, then?” Andy asked, trying very hard not to freak out. It wasn’t an easy task. He was used to thieves and robbers and even murderers, but at least those were _human_ ones. This was like _Nightmare on Elm Street_ coming alive.

Jack lowered his voice and seemed to choose his words very seriously. “There's a rift in space and time running right through the city. The Weevils didn't come in a spaceship. They kind of just – slipped through. All sorts of things get washed up here. Creatures, time-shifts, space junk, debris, flotsam and jetsam.”

“And you scavenge the stuff they leave behind,” Andy guessed. That actually made sense… in a very weird way.

Jack nodded. “Now you’re catching on. Yes, that’s what we do. Find ways of using it. Arming the human race for the future. The twenty-first century is when it all changes, and you've got to be ready.”

“But who's in charge of _you_?” Andy was still more than a little confused. “Is it the government or what?”

Jack shook his head. “We're separate from the government. Outside the police. Beyond the United Nations. Because if one power got hold of this stuff, they could use it for their own purposes.”

“And you think I’d be suited for this sort of job?” Andy asked doubtfully.

Jack nodded. “Oh, yes. I had Ianto check out both of you, after your late partner started to sniffle around after us. I know you can handle a gun. I know you’re physically fit. And I’ve just seen that you can keep your calm and follow orders in a crisis. That’s a _very_ important aspect of our job.”

“B-but… I want to become a sergeant… or even a detective one day!” Andy protested. “I want to finally do important work! I’ve wasted enough years already!”

Jack leaned forward and gave him a look of extreme intensity. “Believe me, Police Constable Davidson; _nothing_ could be more important for the future of this town – this whole _planet_ – than the work we do here.”

“You promise?” Andy knew it was an absurd question, but he couldn’t help. He needed to be _sure_.

To his pleasant surprise, the older man didn’t laugh. “I promise,” he said simply.

Andy swallowed. Hard. “Then I accept the job,” he said, every bit as simply as Jack had spoken.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Jack took him to the Millennium Centre on Roald Dalh Plass. They went to a small tourist information shack with lots of brochures and pamphlets on the counter, which, surprisingly, was still open at such a late hour. Hearing the front door open, a friendly-looking young man in an impeccable dark suit came out from the back that was separated from the office by a bead curtain.

“New recruit, sir?” he asked Jack, who nodded and grinned at him.

“Police Constable – well, ex-Police Constable – Andy Davidson,” he replied. “Andy, this is Ianto Jones. You can call him our public face, I guess. He runs the cover shop, cleans up after us, gets us everywhere in time… and he makes a mean cup of coffee.”

The young man inclined his head in a ridiculously stilted manner, but his smile was genuine. “I do my best, sir.”

“And,” Jack added with a decidedly wicked grin,”he looks good in a suit.”

That comment threw Andy off-kilter for a moment, because honestly, that wasn’t something he’d have expected from his boss. At the police, such innuendos wouldn’t have been tolerated, and for a very good reason. Ianto, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by the flirtatious comment.

“Careful,” he warned, but his eyes were twinkling, “that’s harassment, sir.”

“File a complaint,” Jack returned, still with that thousand megawatt grin on his face, “but let us in first. I need to introduce Andy to the others.”

“Certainly, sir,” Ianto smiled and pushed some kind of button under the counter.

The front door slammed shut. At the same time, the wall panel opened behind Andy, revealing a hidden passageway.

“Go on,” Ianto said. “You can take the scenic tour next time.”

Andy was still hesitating, but Jack herded him through the secret entrance. Before following the new recruit, he looked back at Ianto for a moment.

“Things been taken cared of?” he asked.

Ianto nodded. “Efficiency is part of our job, sir,” he replied, and hung up the Closed sign on the door of the tourist shop.

~The End – for now~


	2. Take Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To certain episodes, there are two or more different versions. The pilot is one of those. The first two paragraphs are the same as in Take One, but in this version Gwen manages to survive a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** 14+, for this chapter.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
**EPISODE 01 – NOTHING CHANGES, TAKE TWO**

Police Constable Andy Davidson was not a religious man. At least, he didn’t go to church, unless him mother came to visit and dragged him there. However, he firmly believed in karma. He believed that one’s deeds had consequences, and one had to live with those consequences, whether one liked it or not. 

And so he accepted the fact that having walk the beat with Gwen Cooper, of all people, was the well-earned punishment for that moment of weakness (or insanity) two years ago. For the fact that – after a particularly stressful day – he’d kept comforting Gwen Cooper till they’d ended up shagging like bunnies in the police station’s broom closet. _Speak about horrible clichés._

Still, there was such thing as deleting one’s bad karma points – which was kinda inevitable in a person’s life – and then was such thing as the universe torturing one, just to be pointlessly cruel. His ongoing partnership with Gwen-bloody-Cooper definitely belonged to the latter category. 

It had been bad enough while Gwen had just been bossy, demanding, incompetent, delusional and downright stupid, destroying both of their careers piece by piece due to all those endearing qualities. But since she’d run into those Torchwood blokes she’d been literally obsessed with them. Leaving her post, so that Andy had to walk in the rain for an hour so until he finally found her. Ranting about strange murder cases and weird creatures in hospital corridors. Harassing Yvonne and that fella from the DVLA to find out the person their car was licensed to. Lying to Rhys about urgent cases that never existed in the first place, just so that she could hunt for the Torchwood people. 

Personally, Andy could never understand what was supposed to be so exciting about Special Ops. Those blokes had no rules to follow, could shoot people at will, no investigations allowed, could use methods he didn’t even want to think about – frankly, they were just creepy. Andy wasn’t sure Torchwood was one of those agencies to begin with, but he wasn’t all that eager to find out, either. 

Gwen saw these things differently. Firstly, she was nosy by her very nature; she just couldn’t stand _not_ to know things that were nowhere her business. She just had to intervene with people’s lives, to find out their little secrets, so that she then could preach her so-called high morale. 

Andy sometimes wished her high morale would include basic working ethics as well. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have to write her reports all the time when she left early to spend some ‘quality time’ with Rhys. And seriously, was that bloke blind or brain-damaged? He could have done so much better – why did he want a woman who couldn’t even cook, hated his friends and drank beer like the fish drank water? Not to mention her other… special interests. 

Oh, Andy knew all too well what – or, to be more accurate _who_ – was the other reason for Gwen’s dogged interest in Torchwood: Captain Jack Harkness. A dashing and mysterious secret agent in a billowing greatcoat, with piercing blue eyes, an American accent and a thousand megawatt smile. A fearless hero who’d saved poor little Gwen’s life in the corridor, when the hospital’s porter was supposedly murdered by some nightmarish creature. 

Never mind that all hospital personnel had been present and accounted for when he’d given in to her nagging and checked. No, Gwen kept babbling about the murdered porter (who hadn’t even been on duty that day), about a man in a _Hellraiser_ sort of mask – or some sort of rabid mutant, depending on the version she was telling – lashing out and killing the poor bloke right before her eyes, and then Captain Jack Harkness riding in with the cavalry (although she never went into any detail about whom that cavalry actually consisted of) and saving the day, just to vanish into thin air somewhere around the Millennium Centre. Where a dripping wet and accordingly pissed Andy had finally found her and their shared police car, after having walked across half the town. 

He was still digesting _that_ bit. She didn’t have the right to simply take the car and leave him behind while still on duty. That was no way to treat one’s partner. 

He’d chalked it all down to Gwen having hit her head really hard in that bar brawl earlier that day and taken her home to Rhys, who’d promised to look after her. Only that when Andy later tried to check on her through phone, a perplexed Rhys told him that she’d gotten back to work. 

Andy didn’t want to cause any domestic trouble between them (as it would have meant to listen to Gwen’s whining all day during their next duty shift), so he lied something about logistic mistakes from Dispatch and misunderstandings. It was fortunate that Rhys was so gullible – fortunate for Gwen, that is. She could never have misled any other man quite so easily. 

Actually, it was fortunate for Andy, too, as he didn’t have to spin complicated webs of lies to cover for his errant partner. Partners were _supposed_ to cover for each other, after all, that was one of the unwritten rules of police service; even though Andy was getting tired of the one-sidedness of it. Gwen seemed to think that their single episode in the broom closet had made him her personal servant or whatnot. 

In any case, he _did_ have an educated guess of where Gwen might have gone while making Rhys believe that she was working an extra shift tonight. He hesitated for a moment – using the police car for surveillance of one’s own partner wasn’t exactly matching the rules, but that way he could get to places where his own car wouldn’t be allowed. 

Like opposite that small tourist shop at the Millennium Centre. He parked the car in one of the side lanes and took out his binoculars, waiting for Gwen to appear. He knew she would come sooner or later. She was as stubborn as a mule. She just couldn’t let things be, even if they only existed in her overdeveloped imagination. No wonder Temple went regularly nuts when she was as much as mentioned. Too bad that her stupidity sabotaged Andy’s own chances for promotion as well. Partners depended on each other in every possible way, and sometimes that was a liability. 

He’d barely waited ten minutes or so when he indeed spotted Gwen, coming out of Jubilee Pizza, carrying two boxes of pizza. She walked along the wharf, heading directly for the tourist shop. Andy shook his head in exasperation. What was the bloody woman up to? _If_ the Special Ops people, or whatever they were, kept a cover shop there, they wouldn’t let her just walk in, would they? Well, he couldn’t do anything else than wait and see what would happen. He only hoped it wouldn’t take too long. They had early shift on the next day. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Half an hour later Gwen was still in that sodding tourist shop – and come to think of, what tourist shop was still open in the middle of the night? Andy shook his head in exasperation. What has Gwen gotten herself into again? Those Special Ops people usually didn’t like outsiders blunder into their territory. 

Another twenty minutes later he was ready to storm into the tourist shop himself. Gwen was a plague, for sure, but he didn’t want her getting killed out of sheer stupidity. Although he had to admit that in moments like these he was sorely tempted. Wasting his precious off-time on chasing Gwen-bloody-Cooper after ghosts was _not_ his idea of a nice evening. 

He was just about to get out of the car when the door on the passenger’s side opened and a cute Japanese chick peered into the vehicle. 

“Excuse me,” she said, as if it had been the most normal thing in the world, “are you Police Constable Davidson? The partner of Miss Cooper?” 

“Yes, I am,” Andy was getting really freaked out now. What the bloody hell was Gwen thinking, getting _him_ involved in her mess as well? Oh, wait, wasn’t the problem with Gwen that she rarely stopped to actually _think_ before she did something phenomenally stupid? Getting _him_ in trouble all the time, too? 

Still, a cute chick with glasses was better than some beefy security guards as trouble was considered. “And who are you?” Andy asked. 

To his surprise, she got into the car without as much as by-your-leave. Well, at least she wasn’t pointing a gun at his head or whatnot. _Yet_. 

“I’m Torchwood,” she replied simply. “I could tell you my name, of course, but then I’d have to make you forget, and that can be a bit messy sometimes, so the less I tell you the better for you.” 

She smiled at him. She was probably a few years older than him, thirty-something or so, but she was freaking _cute_ for a ruthless secret agent or whatever she might be. And she seemed a very smart person. Andy liked smart chicks, even if they were a little older than him; that didn’t bother him at all, as long as they looked like this. 

“What about not telling me anything?” he suggested. “We could go and have a drink instead.” 

She blushed very prettily, as if unused to people making a pass at her. She had to be working with very stupid men who didn’t realize what a classy lady she was if they never asked her out. 

“That’s a tempting offer,” she said, “but I’ll have to opt out, I’m afraid. It would only lead to… complications.” 

Probably because of all that top secret stuff, Andy guessed. It was a shame, really; but unlike Gwen, _he_ knew when _not_ to press an issue. 

“All right, then,” he said. “What do you need to tell me? Because as sad as it is, I’m sure you haven’t gotten over here just because of my pretty face.” 

She gave him a grateful little smile (she was awfully cute when she smiled, really); then she became very serious again. Way too serious for Andy’s peace of mind. 

“Mr Davidson,” she said slowly, as if willing him to listen and _not_ to ask any questions she wouldn’t be able to answer, “your partner has recently stumbled into something she was _not_ supposed to witness. 

Andy suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. “That man, at the hospital, that porter – she was right about him, wasn’t she?” 

“Yes.” 

“What happened to him? Was he really attacked?” 

“He's dead,” she said simply. 

Andy shook his head. “That’s impossible. I’ve checked it myself. No-one’s missing from the hospital staff.” 

She sighed. “Those things can be righted afterwards. We took the body, retrospectively changed the work rota, planted a false witness who saw him leaving the hospital, giving him an alibi for the next forty-eight hours, so when his body's pulled out of the docks next Tuesday night, he's only been missing for three days.” 

“He was murdered?” Andy asked, still a bit doubtful; for one of Gwen’s harebrained theories to be proven true… well, it was hard to believe. 

“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly. 

“And you covered it up?” Andy wasn’t all that surprised, to be honest. Special Ops was _supposed_ to do such things, or they wouldn’t be _needed_. 

She shrugged. “That's my job.” 

“Why telling me about it at all, then?” Andy asked. “Won’t you have to brainwash me now, or whatever it is you do with unwanted witnesses?” 

“It’s nothing so dramatic,” she corrected him with a small, flipping hand wave. “It's just a little amnesia pill. With a touch of denial and a dash of Retcon, as our boss likes to say. He’s administering it to your partner as we’re speaking. When she wakes up tomorrow morning, she'll have forgotten everything about Torchwood.” 

“Again: why me?” Andy insisted. 

She sighed. “She might have talked to other people about the issue. There can always be things that might trigger a repressed memory. We want you to watch her for us. You’re her partner; you can do so easily.” 

“True,” Andy said. “I’m just not sure why I should do so.” 

“For her own safety,” she seemed completely honest about it. “This is dangerous knowledge, especially for someone as untrained as she is. We don’t want her any harm, but we can’t allow her to keep interfering. There’s simply too much at stake.” She gave him one of those pre-paid phones. “Should she start remembering again – or should you discover anyone whom she managed to get involved – use this. It will reach me, and me alone. Oh, and don’t bother to try tracking us through it. It won’t work.” 

“What are you gonna do with her if the amnesia pill doesn’t work?” Andy asked. 

She shrugged. “We’ll have to dose her again… probably even move her to another town. We have our resources. She won’t be harmed, I promise.” 

“I wish I could really believe you,” Andy murmured. “Who says you won’t be giving _me_ the same pill as soon as you can be sure about Gwen?” 

“I don’t know whether we’ll ever be sure about her,” she replied. “She’s the kind of person that keeps popping up like a bad penny. But once you’re no longer needed to watch her, we’ll give you the chance to decide if you want to forget about the whole affair or not.” 

“You won’t trust her but you would trust _me_?” Andy had a hard time to believe that. “Why?” 

“Background research,” she answered simply. “We’ve got a high enough security clearance to read your psychological profile. Jack might even offer you a job, should you want to leave the police. We do need new members from time to time. There’s always more work than we can manage on our own.” 

“I don’t wanna do Special Ops,” Andy declared forcefully. “I’m happy enough to protect and serve… as long as my partner lets me do my job.” 

“We’re not Special Ops,” she replied, smiling that endearing little smile of hers again. 

“So what _are_ you then?” Andy asked. She shrugged, her smile gaining an enigmatic quality. 

“Something entirely different,” she said. And he knew that was all the answer he’d ever get from her, unless they decided to hire him full time. 

“All right,” he sighed. “I’ll do it – but I have one condition.” 

“Oh? And that would be?” 

“That if this is all over, you’ll go out with me. On a proper date: dinner, perhaps a movie... nothing fancy.” 

She seemed genuinely surprised by the request. Yep, working with idiots, no doubt about _that_. Then she smiled again, holding out a small but surprisingly strong hand to him. 

“You’ve got a deal.” 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
And so Police Constable Andy Davidson became a freelance agent of Torchwood, for the promise of a proper date with the cute lady whose name he’d never learned, his only task being to keep an eye on the unpredictable actions of Gwen Cooper. Which, if he wanted to be honest, was a full-time job on a good day. Now that he knew what to look for, it became even more complicated. 

Still, the amnesia pill must have worked, because when they met Yvonne in the next morning, and she asked if they had any luck with Captain Jack Harkness, Gwen just stared at her unblinkingly and told her she had no idea what Yvonne was talking about. Yvonne, whom she must have asked to do some unofficial research for her, sniffed indignantly. 

“Oh, well don't worry about me, just go ahead, wasting my time,” she said, walking past them. Gwen stared after her in confusion, but Andy knew he’d have to find out how much Gwen had actually told Yvonne. And then he’d have to use that one-way phone. He _hoped_ they wouldn't have to wipe Yvonne’s memory, too, but they needed to _know_ about a potential leak. 

Later on that day, Gwen talked him into visiting the filing cabinets to see what headway had been made in the serial murder case. For once, Andy didn’t really mind. He was interested in detective work, even hoped to become a detective one day; although, burdened with a partner like Gwen, he saw that chance vanishing more and more with each passing day. Still, keeping in touch with the other departments couldn’t hurt. 

Sergeant Vaughan, a big, round-faced and slightly pot-bellied man in his late thirties, passed them on the way to his desk. He was a good-natured fellow who had taken Andy under his wings since the younger man’s first day with the police. 

“Aye, aye,” he said with twinkling eyes,” if that’s not our eager little constable! Come to see where the real work's done?” 

“Yes, sir, that's right, sir,” Gwen babbled, completely ignoring the fact that she _wasn’t_ the one who’d been asked. She wasn’t the one having a regular beer or two with Sergeant Vaughan on Friday evenings at _Slimbo’s_ , either. “How's it going?” she added in a tone she hoped was professional but didn’t sound that way at all. 

The sergeant rolled his eyes, headed over to his desk and sat on it, facing the victim board. “See for yourself,” he said. 

Gwen didn’t wait for any further invitation. She hurried to the board, checking it for any additional information. 

“This drawing here,” she pointed at the sketch of a knife that had two smaller blades protruding out from either side of the primary blade. “Is this the murder weapon?” 

The sergeant nodded. “Seems to be, aye. They worked it all out on a computer, they did. Took measurements from the stab wounds, calculated the shape of the blade and stuff, even those prongs – I don't know how they do it. Nasty-looking beast, though. That hooked design does more damage coming out than going in. Seen anything like it somewhere?” 

Gwen stared at the picture insecurely and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so,” he replied absent-mindedly, but Andy could almost hear all the little cogwheels in that stubborn head of hers running at high speed. 

That made him extremely uncomfortable, because the only place she could have seen that nasty weapon without actually remembering would be Torchwood. Could _they_ have been involved in all those murder cases? And if yes, could he alarm them and endanger Gwen’s life? Sure, the cute Japanese chick had promised they wouldn't harm her, but was she telling the truth? 

After some hesitation, Andy decided _not_ to make the call just yet. Perhaps things would reassert themselves without intervention just this one time. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Of course, he’d made his estimate without taking Gwen’s mulish nature into consideration. As always, she couldn’t just leave things bloody alone. She was distracted all day – more so than usual, and _that_ was saying a lot – sketching that blasted knife from memory over and over again. 

What made Andy truly concerned, though, was that her drawings were more sleek, more detailed than the computer-generated picture on the victim board. That wasn’t good, not good at all! Still, Andy couldn’t struggle himself through to make the call. There had to be some other solution. 

He followed Gwen home and parked opposite her house. He was so relieved when he saw the lights go out in their flat. Perhaps Rhys had managed to distract her somehow. But Andy waited for a little longer, just in case. This was Gwen Cooper, after all. One had to expect the unexpected when it came to her – and not necessarily in a good way. 

And lo! Like a self-fulfilling prophecy coming true, Gwen emerged from the house again, in the middle of the night, fully clothed and getting into her car. Andy sighed regretfully. Now he couldn’t delay making that call any longer. He flipped the phone open and pushed the button. 

“Torchwood,” the now-familiar female voice replied almost immediately. Did these people never sleep? “What’s it, Constable Davidson?” 

“I’m not sure,” Andy replied, “but Gwen has just left home. I think she’s on her way to you lot. She has seen a drawing of the possible murder weapon in one of the recent cases, and… well, if you have something to do with covering it up, then we all have a problem.” 

“Understood,” she replied. “We’re monitoring the Plass. There’s no need for you to follow her; we’ll deal with the problem. Torchwood out.” 

She hung up, but Andy decided to follow Gwen anyway. She was his responsibility; and besides, he couldn’t be entirely sure that she was, in fact, going to the Millennium Centre. 

_Right, and whom are you trying to fool, mate?_ He asked himself grimly, while trying _not_ to lose Gwen along the way. He wasn’t entirely successful. She always tended to drive a bit recklessly, but tonight, her only concern seemed to be to reach her destination as quickly as possible, and traffic rules are damned. It was a good thing that Andy already had an inkling where to look for her. 

When he reached the Millennium Centre, Gwen was already standing at the water sculpture – and she was _not_ alone. An exotic-looking woman in a dark jacket was staring at her from the other side of the water sculpture, pointing a large handgun at Gwen, ranting about something. Andy could barely hear her, and could only understand a few things. 

“You were right, you know,” she was saying when Andy got into earshot. “You told Jack we should liaise with the police, but arrogant fool that he is, he didn’t listen. Neither did the others. I was the only one who bothered. So, I was the only one who saw the report. I must give them one thing: They got a good likeness." 

Andy inched closer, thinking feverishly about chances to distract the madwoman (for the chick clearly wasn’t lucid!) who was aiming a gun at his partner. It didn’t help, of course, that Gwen had absolutely no sense of self-preservation. She just stared at the madwoman with eyes that got bigger by the second, trying to sound crisp and professional. 

“I'm arresting you for...” she began, but trailed off uncertainly, realizing that she didn’t even know why she wanted to arrest the other chick. “Wait a minute, how do I know you?” 

The other chick shook her head regretfully. “You _had_ to come back, hadn’t you? I thought you might have seen the knife; and that can trip the amnesia, just one image if you’re lucky… or unlucky, it depends. Anyway, you’re the one who could make the link. I can’t allow that to happen.” 

Andy decided he had to intervene. The Torchwood people apparently weren’t coming in time – or they’d simply decided to let Gwen be killed and be rid of her that way, without making their hands dirty. But _he_ couldn’t just let this crazy chick shoot Gwen in cold blood. That was against his training as a constable – and against his ethics. 

He stepped forth, flashing his badge, and said in a voice that was a lot more stable than he really felt in the inside. “Andrew Davidson, CID. Put the weapon down, missy. No-one needs to get hurt today.” 

She looked at him with that almost-regret in her dark eyes. “I can’t let her go,” she answered wit the chilling inner logic of the insane. 

“Yes, you can,” Andy said firmly. “Killing her won’t help you a bit. You’d have to kill _me_ , too, and I’ve already alarmed Torchwood.” 

She seemed uncertain for a moment, and Andy had almost begun to hope that they all might come out of this alive. Unfortunately, Gwen chose this very moment to become heroic and attacked the crazy chick frontally. As it could be expected, the woman pulled the trigger – more as a reflex than with full intent – hitting her square between the eyes. Gwen fell onto the ground between them, her mouth gaping open, an expression of absurd surprise on her face. 

The crazy chick whirled around, cocking the gun and pointing it at Andy. Bizarrely enough, she was all but crying. “I’m sorry. I can’t let _you_ go, either.” 

Andy checked Gwen’s pulse, out of routine, but, as he’d expected, found none. “You’ll never get away with this.” 

“He’s right, you know,” a voice said and, out of nowhere, a tall man in a heavy grey coat appeared behind the crazy chick. “Suzie, it’s over.” He held out a large hand to her. “Now, come with me.” 

The woman turned and looked at him, her eyes frantically looking for a way of escape. Two other people emerged from the shadows, flanking her from all sides: the Japanese chick and a shorter, thinner, black-haired man with a sour expression on his face. The madwoman was trapped, and she knew it. 

“Suzie,” the man in the greatcoat said again, his smooth voice full of sorrow. “It’s over. Put down the gun.” 

The chick looked around again, but all ways were blocked – unless she wanted to shoot he way free, which Andy wouldn’t put entirely beyond her. Then, before they could disarm her, she put the gun muzzle under her own chin, fired, and fell to the ground, dead. 

Looking from one dead woman to another, Andy fell to his hands and knees and threw up. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
An hour later, he was sitting in Torchwood’s impressive underground base with the cute chick whose name was apparently Toshiko and was a computer wizard (and just how cool was _that_?), the man in the greatcoat who turned out to be the very same Captain Jack Harkness about whom Gwen had been bugging Yvonne the other day, being served coffee by a friendly young man in an impeccable suit. He had been listening to the explanations for the last hour and was now _way_ beyond the stage of freaking out. 

“So what now?” he asked tiredly. “Toshiko here said you wouldn’t wipe my memory as you did with Gwen, unless I wanted it.” 

“Why would I do that?” Captain Harkness, whom everyone but the young man in the suit seemed to call simply Jack, asked with a shrug. “You appear to be a level-headed sort of guy, and Torchwood’s got a vacancy. Job going spare right now. Do you want it?” 

Andy looked at him suspiciously, but the captain seemed genuine enough. Toshiko was beaming at him encouragingly – and the coffee boy didn’t seem to care. 

“What would you possibly need me for?” he asked. 

Jack shrugged again. “We can always use more field agents, with Rift activity increasing as it has been lately. You’ve got the local knowledge, you’ve got the experience… there are several places you would fit in, if you’re interested.” 

Andy looked at Toshiko who was still smiling at him beatifically, and knew he’d never be able to reject such an offer. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Oh yeah, I _am_ interested.” 

~The End –for now~ 


End file.
